Chapter 66: A Strange World (5)
Chapter 66: A Strange World (5)
Thank you, thank you, comra—
No, that’s not it.
I’m only twenty. I can’t become a eunuch already.
“So… your name is Saint-Just?”
“Yes! That’s right, sir! Ah—I never thought you would call my name…!”
Tsk. This isn’t a fan—this feels more like a stalker… He seems kind of dangerous.
Living in 21st-century Korea, I should’ve seen people like this on the news once or twice.
“So… Mister Saint-Just? Calm down, and since it looks like you came a long way, let’s talk over a cup of tea.”
And cool off a bit while we’re at it.
“Ah! As expected—Guillaume, sir, you truly are a saint! To show such kindness to someone you just met!”
“Uh… mm… uh…”
Inviting someone for a cup of tea is that kind…?
I really don’t know…
At our exchange, Pétion, who was beside us, bowed his head and said,
“I will brew the tea, Boss.”
“Huh…?”
With that, Pétion opened the office door and went down to the first-floor kitchen.
No—don’t go! Leaving me alone with a stalker, what kind of world is this?
Whether he understood my feelings or not, Saint-Just looked at me with bright, eager eyes. Seeing that burdensome face, I spoke slowly.
“…All right. You said you came because you wanted to see me. Other than that, is there anything else you wanted to say to me, or something you want from me?”
“O-Of course, sir! Please wait a moment! I… where did I put this…”
Saint-Just unfastened the bundle slung at his side, rummaged through it, pulled out a grimy magazine, and handed it to me with both hands.
I took the grimy magazine and read the title on the cover to myself.
[The Friend of the People, August 10, 1789]
“This is… The Friend of the People. The one written by Jean-Paul Marat, right?”
“That’s right! If it isn’t too rude… could you perhaps sign it for me…?”
“Oh, sure. I’ll happily do that. Where should I sign?”
“P-Please sign here, on page four!”
Let’s see, hold on. This is that article that stole my words without permission, isn’t it?
“…Is something wrong, sir?”
When I frowned without meaning to, Saint-Just asked with a puzzled expression. I waved my hand and lifted the magazine, pointing at a blank space with my pen.
“N-No, it’s nothing. If I do it in this blank space here, is that fine?”
Saint-Just nodded fiercely.
“Yes! Yes! Right there is fine!”
“Here you go.”
Taking the magazine with my scribbled signature, Saint-Just grinned ear to ear and beamed.
Looking at him like this, he almost seemed pure. Like he was a different species from those snake-hearted bastards in Versailles.
Knock, knock, knock.
A knock sounded, and then Pétion opened the door and came in.
But Pétion was holding nothing.
“…Pétion, where’s the tea?”
“That is… Boss, Senior Florian has come downstairs and is waiting. I think the meeting with Mister Saint-Just should end here.”
“Florian is here?”
“Yes. He said it was about the printing press, and that you would know.”
“Ah.”
So that’s why he came in without even finishing the tea. A printing press is a big deal.
Then what do I do with this guest?
As if he’d read my thoughts, Saint-Just waved both hands and shook his head side to side.
“You don’t have to worry about me, sir! I’m the one who came barging in without permission.”
“Thank you for understanding, Mister Saint-Just. I… let me think for a moment.”
If I roughly put together a plan tonight for the printing press, and then tomorrow morning I go see the Marquis de Condorcet…
“I should have time tomorrow afternoon, so come by then.”
At my words, Saint-Just’s eyes widened.
“R-Really? I’m not taking your time, am I…?”
“You said you came from far away. Making time for a cup of tea is fine.”
He came a long way just to see me—at least I can talk for a bit.
Saint-Just kept bowing, his voice bright with joy.
“Thank you, sir!”
“Then we’ll meet tomorrow. I’ll get up first for work.”
When I opened the door and stepped out, Florian—waiting outside—grinned and held out his hand to me.
“At this rate, I was starting to think you’d forget my face too, Boss.”
“After being stuck in Versailles, I was starting to wonder what the Ears of the Nation office even looked like.”
Gripping Florian’s hand, I shrugged and replied.
“No, you worked overtime with me that much—forgetting the office is a bit much, isn’t it? I’m kind of hurt.”
“I worked a lot of overtime in the Versailles office too.”
“Then I can accept that.”
Florian shrugged at my words as well.
“Anyway, what did you say the name of the person who filed the printing press patent was?”
At my question, Florian pulled a notebook from his pocket, flipped through a few pages, and handed it to me.
In the notebook, along with an official document bearing the patent office director’s signature, various notes were densely organized.
But most of those notes had been crossed out with a red X.
“He’s an eccentric inventor named Beauregard, but I can’t find any information beyond the name. After he came by the Paris patent office in ’80, there are no records.”
“What, like a ghost?”
“Exactly. There are rumors he went missing, and rumors he crossed to England, but nothing is certain.”
“Then these red X’s are all…?”
“Yes. I investigated, and every last one was baseless talk.”
“Huh. Then what about the patent rights?”
I handed the notebook back to Florian as I spoke.
“The patent office said we can inspect it, but we can’t use the patent until the inventor becomes unidentified and ten years have passed.”
“Inspection is possible…”
I slowly rubbed my chin.
Inspection is possible. But usage isn’t.
So does that mean we can reference it and make something better?
I need an engineer. I need an engineer.
I lowered the hand that had been stroking my chin and spoke.
“…Florian, let’s go to the Bastille together.”
“The Bastille? What’s there—”
Florian’s face turned to an “Ah,” and he spoke.
“Ah, you mean Lavoisier.”
“Yes.”
“But isn’t he a chemist? He probably doesn’t know much about machines.”
“Florian.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Seeing Florian tilt his head, I grinned and said,
“You never know an engineer until you run him through the mill.”
An engineer isn’t an engineer until he’s been put through the grinder and cried about it.
Beside the Bastille fortress, Lavoisier’s residence.
When I banged on the door a few times, DuPont came out and, seeing me after so long, held out his hand with a broad grin.
“Oh, Guillaume? Weren’t you in Versailles? What brings you here?”
I took DuPont’s hand and shook it as I answered.
“I came to see your chief—no, your teacher.”
DuPont clicked his tongue once, shook his head, and said,
“Ah, but Teacher is in the middle of an experiment right now—”
“That’s Lavoisier’s business. Mine is different. From now on, I’m giving you exactly ten seconds.”
Why? That bastard Lavoisier kept barging into our office anytime he felt like it and raising hell before leaving, didn’t he?
This doesn’t even count as revenge.
DuPont rolled his eyes around at my words, then looked back at me and said,
“…Don’t tell me I’m included in that too?”
“Well, whether I do that or not depends on you. If Lavoisier is late, when I grind that bastard up, I’ll grind you up with him.”
“…I will present Teacher immediately.”
DuPont flinched, then turned around and quickly disappeared into the house.
Soon, with the sound of the wooden floor thumping, that familiar irritating face popped out the door.
“…You said he was in the middle of an experiment, but you came out pretty fast.”
“Oh my! His Excellency the Finance Minister graces this humble place—this Director of the Gunpowder Office, Lavoisier, is moved beyond—”
Tsk. Was he always this long-winded?
I shook my hand and head at the same time and spoke while looking at Lavoisier.
“Enough, Lavoisier. Can you handle machines?”
Lavoisier’s eyes rolled this way and that, and he answered with a regretful face.
“…M-Machines, you say? Unfortunately, I am a chemist…”
“….”
“O-Of course, it’s not that I can’t do it at all, Your Excellency!”
When I glared, Lavoisier immediately put on a bold face and nodded repeatedly.
“Lavoisier.”
“Yes! Your Excellency!”
“You’re a member of the Royal Academy, right?”
“That is correct, Your Excellency!”
“Then you know quite a few engineers.”
“That… is correct, Your Excellency.”
Now this is a golden fishing hole.
“Good. Say the name of the first person that comes to mind.”
Lavoisier thought briefly, looked at me, and spoke.
“D-Doctor Joseph Guillotin?”
“Joseph… G-Guillotin?”
Guillotin… isn’t that the guillotine? How can someone’s name be a guillotine?
Whether or not I tilted my head, Lavoisier continued.
“Doctor Joseph Guillotin is one of the finest engineers in the Royal Academy.”
“Oh, really? Where is he now?”
“…I believe he is at the National Assembly in Versailles, Your Excellency.”
“Mm. What time is it?”
Lavoisier hurriedly ran to the mantel clock hanging inside the house, then came back and said,
“Afternoon—afternoon… it is 1 p.m., Your Excellency.”
Hm, 1 p.m. If we go to Versailles and back, round trip is about seven hours.
With my hands clasped behind my back, I spoke briskly.
“Let’s meet at 10 p.m. tonight, Lavoisier.”
“Yes? But Doctor Joseph Guillotin is working at the Assembly right now…”
Maybe. But he probably won’t be able to. The Assembly will be fighting all day because of that bastard Orléans.
I shook my head a few times and continued.
“It’s fine. I guarantee it—if you call him now, he’ll come without much complaint. So bring that Doctor Guillotin to my office by 10 p.m. You know where my office is, right? You’ve been coming and going often enough.”
“Yes? B-But, Your Excellency the Finance Minister, that makes no sense—!”
“…What did you say?”
“O-Of course it makes sense! Then I will see you tonight at 10 p.m., Your Excellency!”